When Eames Met Ariadne
by HalfBloodDragon
Summary: An unlikely friendship forms between the Forger and the Architect. Can it outlast his flirting and her need to dream?  Based around the concept of "When Harry Met Sally".
1. The Job

I'm a diehard Arthur/Ariadne shipper, but I feel like Eames/Ariadne doesn't get enough love. They'd be so entertaining! Anyway. A warning: I honestly can't include Arthur at all without having him and Ariadne throwing themselves madly at each other. So this fic will be strangely vacant of all mention of Arthur. If this bothers anyone, let me know and I'll try to get over it.

Based around the concept of _When Harry Met Sally_.

Disclaimer: Neither _When Harry Met Sally _or _Inception_ belong to me. :(

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When Eames Met Ariadne

Chapter 1: The Job

Ariadne fiddled with her scarf, wringing it between her fingers as she stared out the window of the plane. The team was on its way to Sydney so that they could hop on Fischer's plane before it left. But all Ariadne could think about was that this was it-this was the moment of truth when every moment of the last few weeks came to fruition. Either way, this was the turning point. In under two days they would have either pulled off the impossible or be in jail. There really wasn't much of a third option.

Eames sat next to her, contentedly absorbed in his newspaper. She hesitated dumping her worries on him, but he seemed like he might understand, might have patience with the rookie. In the end she just turned back to the window.

The newspaper rustled. "Ariadne," he sighed, setting it down, "there's obviously something you're wanting to get off your chest. Speak up, darling."

She turned towards him, seeing the hint of amusement that never seemed to leave his face. "It's just so daunting, having my whole life depending on ten hours. How are all of you able to act so calm?"

"We try not to think about it. I hear they have a pretty good selection of in-flight movies. Want to pick one out?"

She glared at him. "How can you even think of watching a movie?"

He chuckled. "Again, love, you don't think. That's the whole point."

He picked his newspaper back up, and a blind man could see the dismissal. Taking his advice, she flipped through the movies, and started one up.

A few minutes in, Ariadne was back to fidgeting. Eames looked up, taking in the screen with disdain. "Casablanca? No wonder you're still stressed."

"Casablanca's a classic! No one can resist the dynamic between Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart!"

"Other than you, you mean?" She blushed, but he continued. "That's not its problem though. It's all about having to choose between ball-and-chain commitment and lust. I honestly don't understand the quandary."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm surprised you've even seen Casablanca. What happened, some girl drag you to it?"

"Some smashingly gorgeous girl. It was nearly worth it."

They shared a laugh. Ariadne went back to watching with Eames surprisingly joining her.

She tried to restrain her curiosity, but couldn't help it. "Eames, have you ever had a date that wasn't a one-night-stand?"

"Are you offering?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

"No."

"You're right. Even you can't resist my manly charm and devastating good looks."

"Eames! You know that's not what I meant!"

"Whatever you say, love."

"Pussy," Eames muttered at the movie a few minutes later.

"Why? He loves her, and he's willing to sacrifice everything for her."

"He wants her, yes, but he's not man enough to act on it! And you disagree with me calling him a pussy?"

Her retort died before it left her lips. "I actually might sort of agree with you."

Eames scoffed. "And you thought you could resist my charm."

Ariadne laughed. A comfortable silence settled over them. "It's nice to just talk and be friends." Eames gave her an odd look. "What?"

"Ariadne, girls and blokes can never just be friends. The sex inevitably gets in the way."

"Well sure, if they have sex. But not all friends do. I mean, we're obviously not."

"Even if they don't have sex, one of them always wants to."

Ariadne laughed. "Your charm doesn't go that far, Eames. I can honestly admit that I'm not thinking of ways to get you into my bed."

His incessant smirk was back full force. "I never said YOU were."

"I? What...oh." She blushed deeply and went back to looking out the window.

"Ariadne." His voice held a hint of a laugh.

"Yes?"

"You are a girl, and you are attractive. Try not to take it personally."

A small smile grew. "Ah. Ok."

The seatbelt indicator flashed on as the plane started to descend.

"See, that wasn't so bad. As long as you're not thinking about life-altering events they won't bother you!"

"Eames!" Ariadne groaned, "Now I'm thinking about it!"

He chuckled. "Ah, but the moment we land, it won't be my responsibility to keep you sane anymore. As you think about how easy it'll be for you to screw up, having never had a hostile subject in your dreams before. Knowing that you won't have a gun, so you'll be even more of a tourist than Saito. Wondering-"

"Eames! Gah!"

He laughed ruthlessly. "Honestly, I'd be surprised if you slept a wink tonight."

She buried her head in her hands, thoroughly giving up on him.

"Cheer up, love, there's an upside to all this."

"What?"

"You'll get plenty of sleep on the plane."

"EAMES!"


	2. The Return

Thank you everyone for your amazing reviews! Every story alert, favorite, and review makes me want to write so much more. :D

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When Eames Met Ariadne

Chapter 2: The Return

Eames accepted his drink from the stewardess as she moved down the plane. He let a little grin slip over his face. They'd done it. They'd pulled off the impossible. Hopefully, Fischer would never even know it was a dream. Just in case though, they still put in every precaution. It would look odd if six people flew all the way to LA just to fly back out the next day, so everyone went their separate ways and took a forced vacation. A month later, Eames found himself flying back to Paris, of all places, on the rumor of a lucrative forging job.

He reclined his chair, mentally celebrating an impressive job well done.

"Just water, please," someone a few rows up told the stewardess.

He snapped awake. Names were iffy, but he never forgot a voice. Eames stood and stretched, looking around. Two rows ahead, the stewardess handed a brown-haired girl a glass of water.

"Thanks," she smiled, moving a sketchpad to create space for the glass on the folding table.

It clicked. "Ariadne?" Eames asked, his traditional smirk growing.

She turned. "Eames!" she exclaimed, but grinned.

The man next to her took in their reunion. "Would you like to trade seats?"

Eames came around to her row and clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks, mate." He slid into the vacated seat. Ariadne's smile was still there, if shyer. He loved it when people were happy to see him. "So how's our little Architect been doing? Taking in big, scary LA all on your own?"

She laughed. "It was wonderful. I've never been before, and for once I wasn't a starving student."

He chuckled. "Amazing how well doing the impossible lines your pockets, eh?"

"Exactly. And how have you been, lying low—"

Eames coughed loudly. "While 'Architect' has plenty of non-criminal connotations," he whispered, "'lying low' and 'Forger' don't really."

Embarrassed immediately, she ducked her head. "Crap. Sorry."

"It's alright. Most of the time, people are too wrapped up in themselves to notice anything out of the ordinary." He pointed at the other person in their row, sleeping soundly.

"How do you know they're not faking?" Ariadne whispered.

"Knowing people is my job, love."

"Ah. Right." A smirk spread on her face. "You avoided my question from earlier. How has your month of down-time after getting laid off been?"

So the girl _could_ learn. "Decent. Dom and Arthur were always the ones that enjoyed the break." He shrugged. "I live. It's a necessary part of being in the work force. Doesn't mean I like it."

"If you could, you'd prefer to be on a job all the time?"

"Absolutely, love. It's one thing doing paperwork, a whole 'nother getting to…walk in someone else's shoes, so to speak."

Her face scrunched up in curiosity. "I always wondered how you did that. I couldn't even manage to change my hair color."

Eames smirked. "It's not like I can go over the mechanics right here."

Ariadne's face fell, and he could tell she was mentally kicking herself. He gestured towards her sketchbook, still lying open. "Is that building actually possible?" He knew she'd catch what he was really asking.

She gave him a look. "There's no way those supports would be load-bearing."

He returned the look right at her. "There's a reason why I'm not the Architect, love. In English, please?"

"Ah. The building is too large for the structure to support its own weight."

Beat.

"So, not possible?"

She grinned. "Maybe someday."

He caught the meaning. "So you're going back to finish your degree?"

Ariadne grimaced. "I'm lucky Professor Miles understands. Otherwise I'd have to retake more than just three classes."

Eames shuddered. "Going through school once was more than enough for me."

"You have a degree?" He was going to pretend that her surprise wasn't insulting.

"I never said I _finished _school."

"Ah." At least not as insulting as her comprehension. "So before you dropped out—"

"Was _kicked_ out," he corrected.

"—what were you majoring in?"

He smirked at her. "You want to know how I do what I do?"

She nodded.

"Then guess."

Ariadne studied him with the inevitable eye-squinting that beginners thought was so necessary. He hated feeling like some specimen lying on an operating table, but he really was curious what she would think.

She tilted her head to one side, and Eames realized where he'd seen that look on her before. He wasn't a specimen, he was an obstinate building. One where the floor plans didn't line up quite right. A wall where a doorway should be, a chandelier instead of a staircase.

A smile tugged at her lips. "Obviously not architecture. Or math, or science."

"Correct so far."

"Something creative, you've said nearly as much yourself."

Her nose scrunched up and he tried to patiently await her conclusion.

"Artist?"

Yes, and no. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, you forge—"

Eames broke into a loud coughing fit.

Abashed, she tried again. "Your replicas of other… artwork are so accurate that no one can really tell the difference."

"Alright, I'll give you that one. I considered art for a brief bit."

"But it wasn't your major?"

"Not a chance. No steady income. And as you've just discovered, income is a _very_ important aspect of a job."

She grinned before resuming her study. He could see the beams going into place in her head, trying to see how the different floors related to the overall structure. But he could tell she was missing it. Floors could be added, changed. The foundation was always the only thing. Floors only mattered as much as they showed what was underneath.

A grin lit Ariadne's face. "People. Journalism?"

Eames swore violently. She giggled. "How the bloody hell did you figure that one out?"

She shrugged. "Tell Arthur a story once and he'll be able to tell it back better than you can. But it's not like you were able to get Fischer to share his life-long woes. You had to extrapolate, piece what little bits of information you could together to get the full picture."

He swore again.

"So why'd you quit?"

He looked over at her. "I was kicked out."

"Yeah, but I guarantee you wouldn't have gotten yourself kicked out if you'd wanted to be there."

He glared at her, but figured telling this all-too-perceptive girl wouldn't kill him. "I wanted to get to the heart of the story. See what it really was that drove them over the edge. Then I realized I just wanted to drive them over the edge. Much more fun."

Ariadne laughed. "So what was it that got you into, er… acting?"

His grin turned fake, but he knew she wasn't good enough to catch it. "Long, boring story. Enough of that, love. We're nearly back in Paris."

The plane was indeed touching down on the runway.

Her face fell. "That quickly?"

Eames grinned at her. "Time flies when you're having fun."

"Will I see you around in Paris?" Her face was so hopeful that it nearly hurt.

"I tend to work on the not-as-picturesque side of the law. Chances aren't very likely."

She nodded in sad acceptance and stood to get her bags from overhead. "Goodbye then, Eames. It was nice getting to know you."

"Likewise, Ariadne."

And she gave him an honest, if pained smile before joining in the mass of people leaving the plane.


	3. The Bar

I seriously have the best reviewers ever! Every time I read your comments, my entire day gets brighter. So here's to you guys—chapter 3!

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When Eames Met Ariadne

Chapter 3: The Bar

Ariadne skeptically shoved open the heavy door, trying to look like she belonged as she sauntered over to the bar. This wasn't her first time here, but she always felt just as out of place. She was made for studios and half-made buildings coated in sawdust. This bar was made for the scum of Paris-some subconscious connection to her dream-thief friends, she supposed.

Once, she would have said she was made for dreaming. She tried to accept that that day was passed, that her life had progressed back to reality. But still whenever she sketched, most of her creations would not be possible in a world with real gravity. Yes, she designed the real as well, but the impossible was where her genius lay.

When all logical arguments against wallowing in longing failed, she found herself here. Silently drowning her sorrow among people who could never understand.

She ordered her usual, knocking it back faster than intended, and all-too-soon had to order another.

"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, Ariadne walks into mine."

She turned around to see who knew her here and her heart nearly stopped. Eames stood in front of her, watching her face with amusement. She clutched her bishop (still always with her. Old habits and all) and on feeling the familiar weight jumped up, crushing the Forger into a hug.

He laughed, returning it, before wincing. Ariadne stepped back, confused. "Are you alright?"

"For the most part, love." He gestured towards his right arm. Abruptly, she realized that only his left arm was in the jacket, the right sleeve dangling loosely.

He moved towards the stool next to her. "Is this seat taken?"

A smile blossomed. "Not at all."

He returned the smile, if not as brightly, and shrugged out of his jacket. She gasped-from elbow to knuckles his right arm was covered in plaster.

"Eames, what happened?"

He laughed mirthlessly. "Balcony was ten feet taller than I thought it would be. Made for a smashing impact, if you'll pardon the pun."

"How do you manage to, er..."

"Forge? This bar's seen too many of the likes of me for me to worry about being overheard."

"Ah. So how do you forge with your arm like that?"

He glared. "I don't."

"Stuck to just dream-forging for the time being, then?" It was so hard to keep the excitement out of her voice. She'd waited for so long, with no sign of contact from any of the team.

He motioned at the bartender for a drink, clutching it lovingly in his left hand. "That's what I found out the hard way the last time I broke it. Pain being in your mind goes both ways. My dream self, be it me or me as someone else, will have a broken arm. If I don't manage to add a cast quick enough, it hurts like the dickens. And with a cast, even a paper-thin one, I still can't bend it. So unless my mark has a broken right arm, I'm out of luck. And a job."

"Oh." Her excitement died. She tried to be sorry for him, she really did, but at least he'd had forays into the dream world for the past year. She'd been lucky to have regular dreams at all.

"Enough of my sob story. How have you been faring out in the real world?"

Ariadne drained the glass to buy herself time for a good answer.

Eames whistled. "That bad?"

She rubbed a hand over her face. "You're not supposed to be that perceptive."

He laughed. "If I wasn't, I'd be out of a job."

She couldn't repress the snort. "You kind of already are."

"I left myself open for that one, didn't I?"

"Wide open."

"But seriously, darling, even Cobb would've been able to tell that you weren't doing well. It's not like you were the bar hopper of the team before."

She grunted in response.

Eames's mouth twisted into a pained smirk. "I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but... do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. "You have enough problems of your own."

"Love, I've got nowhere else better to be."

Ariadne _really_ looked at him, and was shocked to see that he was likely in more emotional pain than she was. At least she had regular, boring architecture. "What do you do on normal days?"

He shrugged. "Watch my bones grow. I have about a month left of it. Occasionally I'll spice it up and watch paint dry. I like to live on the edge."

She laughed into her empty mug and Eames gestured for a new one.

He fixed her with that penetrating stare that she was beginning to resent. "I believe you just dodged the question though."

The man was good. "I just miss it so much!" she exploded, throwing her hands into the air. "Nothing compares! Absolutely nothing! I graduated with honors, even won a contest for a town hall. And I still feel like my life is only a pale shadow of what it could be!"

She slumped onto the counter, and was surprised to feel Eames's hand rubbing her back comfortingly. "I'm sorry, love. I can't say Cobb honestly took your life into account when he hired you. Now that he and Arthur can work legally again, they don't really need a second Architect."

"Or a Forger?"

"Forging's never legal, but I've never been dependent on work from Cobb."

She felt some of the familiar anger resurface. "Miles won't even give me anything. Says I'm too addicted as it is. I tried calling Cobb, but the number I know is disconnected."

"Don't take it personally; the number I have for him's disconnected too."

"I bet the number Arthur has works just fine," she muttered.

Eames gave a wry grin at that.

"You said Cobb and Arthur are working legally now. Could I do that?" Hopefulness filled her voice against her wish.

"The only way to legally dreamshare is with the military—what it was intended for. Unless you've got some pretty high level government clearances that I don't know about, I'm fairly sure that line of work is closed to you."

"How do I get an illegal job then? It's not like I've ever filled out a black market job application."

He shifted awkwardly. Ariadne realized this was going to be bad—Eames was never awkward.

"You want flattery or you want truth?"Eames asked thoughtfully.

"Definitely truth."

"You can't."

"What do you mean I can't? Cobb himself said I'm better than he was and he's supposed to be the best."

"Unfortunately, darling, it's not all about skill. Cobb was willing to work with an innocent kid fresh out of school because he's _Cobb_." He looked at her expression, frowned, and tried again. "Think of it this way. In a criminal venture, the more people that know what's going on, the bigger risk you have of someone snitching. Or getting caught, etcetera. So everyone needs to pull their own weight, do as much as possible. Yusuf was our chemist, but he also was the Dreamer for level 1, _and_ he did a hell of a job driving the van."

"But Cobb said that the Architect just designs the levels and teaches them to the Dreamers."

"Because Cobb knew you couldn't be a Dreamer. Normally, the Architect is always in the heat of things, there to plan an intricate escape route should things turn sour."

"You're the Forger, but you also were the Dreamer for level three. I get it." She wasn't sure how this made her feel, but she was glad Eames hadn't tried to sugarcoat it.

"Also, I'm the best bet in a fight. Armed or unarmed."

Ariadne smirked. "No need to brag. Just 'cause you think you're special."

He shook his head and laughed. "But seriously. If you're going to get a real, criminal job, you need to know how to take care of yourself in a dream."

"And would you, self-acclaimed best in a fight, be willing to teach me enough to carry my own weight?"

He gave her a smile she'd seen him give too many other women. "I think that might work. We could go over to my flat, discuss it away from prying ears."

Ariadne couldn't help it. She laughed at him. "Remember, I know you Eames. We can talk about it just fine right here."

"Ariadne, my flat doesn't bite."

"It's not your flat I'm worried about." She took a swig of her drink, tossing him a smirk.

Eames sighed. "One day, you're going to look back on this moment and regret not taking advantage of me while you had the chance. It's going to be really hard to find a better-looking bloke. Your standards will forever be ruined."

"Eames, guys who know they're attractive-aren't all that attractive."

He ruffled her hair. "Admitting I'm attractive is the first step on the road to recovery."

"You are incorrigible. And insufferable. I hope you know that."

"I do. It's why you love me."

"Eames! So will you teach me or not?"

His grin was back. "I can be...persuaded." he purred with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Ariadne stood, keeping an impassive mask on her emotions. "Darn. Oh well. Have fun watching your bones grow."

She walked towards the exit, counting in her head.

One, one thousand.

Two, one thousand.

Three, one-

"Ariadne, wait!"

She turned to see Eames striding after her. He gave a dramatic sigh. "Fine, I'll embrace my inner altruist."

"As friends?"

"I've never had a female friend before." He shuddered playfully. "Guess it's worth a shot."

She grinned. "Great."

And they walked out of the bar together.

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I appreciate your thoughts, be they critical, happy, just saw Inception... whatever. :D


	4. The Training

You guys rock my world. Seriously. Any comments, questions, everything are so wonderfully welcome. I treasure each of them. They're my precious.

Sabriel, there is something in this chapter inspired by your reviews. Hope you enjoy! :)

Also, a major thank you to DragonMaker for taking me to a full-blown shooting range for this chapter. Any touch of realism is thanks to him. :D

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When Eames Met Ariadne

Chapter 4: The Training

The Lamborghini zoomed down the stretch of highway. Sirens wailed as the two cop cars struggled to keep up.

Ariadne shifted gears panickedly. Her eyes never left the road. "Eames, there are cops chasing us!"

He grinned from the passenger's seat. "I know."

"They're going to throw us in prison!"

"Only if they catch you, love."

She hesitated, then floored it. The sportscar shot forward. Buildings blurred as they screamed past. "If I'm going to be a criminal," she gritted out, "might as well go all the way."

"That's the spirit!" he laughed.

It was a good thing she knew how to drive a stickshift.

"Ok, love, your lesson on how to be a damn good driver starts now. Have you ever done a high speed u turn before?"

"Can't say I've needed to."

"Well it's a great way to throw cops so you're going to learn it. On my mark, spin the wheel to the right 180 degrees, pull the emergency brake-"

"While the car is moving?"

"-stomp on the clutch, complete the turn, release the emergency brake, and speed away." Eames tossed her a smirk. "And yes, while the car is moving. It wouldn't be extreme driving if the car was stopped."

Her throat clenched up. This was insane. "Eames, I don't think I can do all that at once."

"You flipped Paris on itself. Everything else should be a walk in the park."

"That was in a dream!"

He shook his head at her. "You're still the same quick-thinking person. Remember, turn, brake, clutch, turn, unbrake, gas. Got it?"

The cops were closing. "I think so..."

"Now!"

She spun the wheel for all she was worth, her other hand pulling the brake. The tires screamed in protest as the car swung. It kept turning past 180 and she barely corrected it in time to avoid the cops. She hit the gas and shot away with only a slight lurch.

Eames grinned ear-to-ear as the cops sluggishly followed. "You, darling, have the makings of a bloody fantastic driver."

Ariadne's pulse pounded as she wiped her hair out of her eyes. "I never, EVER want to do that again. I thought for sure I was going to roll the car."

"But you didn't, and that's what matters."

All-too-soon, a new problem presented itself. "Eames, there's a city ahead. With tiny, winding streets."

"Go ahead and slow down, love. You can't corner well going fast, but the good thing is that neither can they."

She slowed, making the turns smoothly.

"Er, not that slow." Eames looked uneasily over his shoulder.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, she could see more cop cars pouring out of the narrow side streets to join the two. This was going to be bad.

"Eames... now might be a good time to, you know, actually give me lessons?"

A cop car veered to their right, creeping forward. "Don't let him do that. Cut him off before he gets next to you."

Ariadne immediately shifted the car to block him.

A shot rang out, punching through the rear windshield. Ariadne ducked, inadvertently clipping a wall with the car. Eames winced.

"They're firing!" she yelled, "What do I do when they're trying to shoot me?"

"The Lamborghini is your weapon. Use its speed!"

She stepped on the gas again, only to stomp on the brakes a second later, narrowly making it around a sharp corner.

A cop pulled alongside them, raising his gun.

"Gas! Gas!" Eames yelled.

She punched it. The car clipped a building on the turn. She struggled to correct it. "This isn't going well!"

She glanced in the mirror. Five cops, right on her tail.

"Watch it!"

A pedestrian stepped off the curb. Ariadne swerved-slamming into a lamppost. Airbags exploded into their faces.

"I'm really sorry, Eames," she stammered. "I didn't mean to crash your beautiful car."

But he was all business as he helped her out her door, crawling through after. The sirens approaching reminded her that there was more at stake than the Lamborghini.

Eames stuck his head over the top of the hood, to be rewarded with a spray of bullets. "Stay low, and run to that door when I tell you to." He pointed at a tiny shop door a few feet away.

She nodded, still in shock from the crash.

He lobbed a grenade over the car. "Go!"

They ran, the explosion covering them. He yanked open the door and she stepped into-

A swamp?

The door disappeared after Eames closed it. All around them were stunted, twisted tree-like shapes. An odd blue fog covered the ground, and where the horizon should have been, the same picture of a mountain repeated around the entire area.

"This is a dream?" she asked accusingly.

He shrugged. "I wanted you to take it seriously, without risking my car or our lives. You would've noticed it earlier-"

"The pavement was wrong," she mused, "there is no highway that large near southern France, you had the wrong roofing tiles, and there wasn't a sea breeze. Anything else I missed?" She hadn't put it together earlier, but now that she had a moment to breathe, the details came back to her.

"See, this is why I'm not an Architect," he grinned.

"Well, you did a pretty decent job of making a creepy swamp."

Eames scowled. "This was supposed to be an alpine forest. Idyllic and whatnot."

Ariadne poked a tree gingerly. Her finger sunk in and the bark rippled. "Your trees are made out of play doh." She couldn't repress her laugh.

"I know, I know," he waved the comment away.

"How were you even able to come _close_ to making a city when this," she gestured around her, "was supposed to be a forest?"

"I remembered it from a previous job. I was able to make your snow fort to your specifications, wasn't I?"

"Ah, true. Alright, so what are we training for here?"

"You're not mad that I drugged you and pulled you into a dream?" If anything, his smirk grew bigger.

Ariadne frowned. "Mad? I'm thrilled to be dreaming again. And, right now, I'd like to just continue with training."

"Your wish is my command." He mock bowed, and tossed her a gun, smirking when she caught it gingerly. "It's loaded, so be careful." If looks could kill, Eames should have feared for his life.

He hung a person-shaped cutout on a tree about 30 feet away. "Go ahead, love."

She eyed it skeptically. "Anywhere specific?"

"Your choice. I'm only going to teach after you've shown me what you need to learn."

"I've never fired a gun in my life!"

He grinned. "Good. Then you'll have no bad habits."

She lifted the piece hesitantly towards her face, looking down the sight. Eames carefully put his hand between her and the gun. "Not so close. Guns kick when they're fired, meaning it'll pop back with a powerful punch. Best not put your face in its way."

She stretched the gun out at arm's length like in cop movies. "Like this?"

"Better. But use both hands."

She pulled the trigger. The bullet cracked across the field.

Ariadne gasped. "It was like a little explosion! And freaking loud!"

He nodded sagely. "It takes getting used to when you're the one firing."

She looked at the target and grinned. "I hit it!"

"You want to aim for the chest. Arm shots won't do much. Where were you aiming?"

"His head," she muttered.

"Practice makes perfect, love. Hitting it anywhere is a fabulous start."

A few shots later, Eames added, "Keep your feet shoulder width apart."

"My feet _are_ shoulder width apart."

"That's like neck width! Bloody hell, girl, how narrow do you think your shoulders are?"

"They are exactly as un-narrow as my feet are apart."

He sighed. "Just widen your stance."

"Sure," she smirked. He wasn't the only one who could press other people's buttons.

Ariadne kept shooting, her aim getting better, but her nerves getting worse. The noise and the explosion caused her to flinch with every shot.

"Keeping your eyes open helps your aim," Eames drawled.

"I know!" she snapped. "I can't help it!"

"How about we switch to explosives then? You can practice on your own till you get the hang of the pistol."

She couldn't help her frown. "I'm not going to get to fire any of the bigger guns?"

"Of course you will, love. You shouldn't need them on a mission, though. But if something happens to me or another gun-for-hire, you'll need to be able to pick up his rifle and take his place." He studied her expression. "Does that sound good?"

"Yeah." She thought for a moment. "Is it possible to make a gun? Like one that had the speed of a machine gun with a sniper's range and was small enough to conceal?"

He laughed. "I've tried quite a few times, and each time I don't even get to see how glorious my suicide was."

"So that'd be a 'no'." Ariadne felt new ideas flicker through her mind, discarding them or storing them for later evaluation.

Eames rubbed his hands in anticipation. "Alright, so explosives. Also known as: Killing Loads of People When You Can't Aim to Save Your Life."

"'Almost' only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades?"

"Rocket-propelled grenades, love. They're much more fun."

Eames gave her a quick crash course before glancing at his watch. "We should probably call it a day-"

Ariadne felt her consciousness pulled back to reality.

"-seeing as our timer's about up," he continued, removing the needle from her wrist. "How was it?"

She rubbed a hand over her face. "Wonderful, actually. Just dreaming again was fantastic. Even with a really crappy architect."

He tried to look offended. "Love, I can't be perfect at everything."

She shook her head and laughed.

So this was his flat. Small, cluttered, but cozy and surprisingly somewhat clean. Leathers and dark woods everywhere. A desk sat off by the window, filled with newspapers, magazines, and well-used notebooks. Books overflowed a bookshelf to pile in stacks around it. The painting particularly intrigued her: a cliffscape by what looked to be Courbet.

Against her better judgment, she kind of liked the overall effect. "Eames, I thought we were very clear about not going to your flat."

"Love, where else do you think I'd keep a dreaming machine? And you were also very clear on being friends only. I assumed they averaged out."

Although she resented the decision being made without her input, she saw the logic and nodded. Payback, though, was not beyond her. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

He looked instantly skeptical. "And what would that be?"

She ducked her head. "Well, it's just blank and sad looking, and I was wondering... could I sign your cast?" she asked sweetly.

His gruff composure melted a bit. "Of course," he replied, ruffling her hair.

She whipped out a permanent marker, placing her work right above his elbow, in the most prominent spot.

Satisfied, she recapped the pen. "Can I have some water?"

He gestured vaguely towards a kitchen. "Sure. In there somewhere."

She walked away, wondering how long it would take him to realize.

On his arm was a heart with a frilly Cupid's arrow through the bolded word 'ARTHUR'.

All the way in the kitchen, she heard his yell.

"ARIADNE!"


End file.
